Deep End
by MedliSage
Summary: Why would Hibiki even worry about his safety when he hated living like this? He hates it. He hates it, hates it, hates it - [Hibiki Kohaku character study.]


_Tick… tick… tick… tock._

Another minute has gone by. It's twelve minutes past 10PM now and Hibiki sighs. It's not like he expected Kagura to be on time, but still.

He lays the documents he had been holding onto Kagura's desk. Normally he'd leave it at that, but there was also the other matter he had to discuss.

Hibiki walks to the side of the room laden with the long window. The flooding moonlight directly trikes his body and he tenses.

Silent and immediate, he steps back and slinks to the opposite end of the room, into the shadows, where the moonlight permeates less. His body relaxes. Not wholly - no, his muscles are always drawn enough to spring in an instant. Ready to soar his body through the shadows like a bird of prey.

 _Tock._

Another minute.

With another quiet sigh, Hibiki's eyes fall to the floor. With the mixture of moonlight, the tree branches shaking in the wind outside, and his own body, the shadows create a moving cascade of images on the near-reflective wood of the floor. He eyes his own silhouette mixing with them - his slender, fit frame, small and stealthy. The rectangle that dangles from his hips seems as much a part of his body than any other limb.

It wasn't usual for him to carry his weapons within NOL. However, Kagura had asked him to accompany Noel to the station to be sent to see Kokonoe at her lab. Hidden, of course, to make sure she was not followed. And who else to send but Hibiki? The sun hadn't even fully set at the time, but neither that nor the large crowds of the city mattered. No one saw Hibiki.

"Watch Noel get to the train. Don't let anyone see you."

That was what Kagura had said, and that was exactly what had been done.

To serve Kagura of the Mutsuki family; that was Hibiki's job. That was what any other person would call it, anyway. Hibiki would not call it something so petty as a "job." It was why he was born, after all. He was a Kohaku. This was his fate, his purpose, his use as a tool. A tool is never meant to be used outside of its purpose.

Kagura would be here soon, and Hibiki would report, and Kagura would tell him he did a good job. As if Hibiki should have some sense of fulfillment.

But what sense of fulfillment was there in there in simply existing as what you are?

He realizes his hand has wandered to the handle of one of his blades and his fingers twitch at the handle.

In a single, fluid motion, the blade his drawn and at his side. Like the sword holster hanging off him - perhaps moreso - it feels natural. A part of him. His fingers coil around the handle it in a steady, comfortable grip, before bringing it in front of him. As he turns it over once, the moonlight strikes it. To anyone, it would be a glint of light and nothing more, but it makes Hibiki nearly recoil. The bright light shining on him brings him near physical pain. He takes another step back into the shadows.

 _Tock._ Another minute had gone by. Two, actually. He hadn't denoted to himself the other one, but he knew it had passed. He had heard it sixty second ago, just like he had heard each rustle of the branches outside, just like he had heard the floorboard in the next room creak.

Even as he thinks this, said machinations never stop. His ears attuned to all sounds, keeping track of each. The soft tick of the clock, every floorboard that might creak. His eyes noting every shadow that moved, cast by the leaves outside, to see if something moves them besides the wind. And most of all, his heart beating a constant, steady rhythm. Never faster, never slower. Powering his body to a perfect balance of calm and alert, no matter the circumstances. Constantly working. Constantly precise. Constantly efficient.

A tree branch moves in a way that makes the moonlight shift down his blade, less glaring this time. It shines off nearly every surface in the room, but especially off the sheen of his weapon. As it moves down, he sees the reflection of his face. Not something he saw often. It's something he feels nothing about. The appearance of a tool mattered not, but especially one that is never seen. He does notice, though, that not even a hint of the overwhelming moonlight dares to penetrate or reflect in his eyes. No light would dare pierce his emptiness, not even the light of the night. It makes stark his emptiness. There is nothing. There is nothing to reflect on. There is nothing inside.

It doesn't matter. It matters not, he tells himself, as his heart flutters. A tool should have nothing inside. His eyes focus on their shallow reflection in the blade and not the shadows around him. The clock stops ticking, the branches stop rustling. His eyes are swallowed in their own emptiness and it consumes his surroundings. A void empty of sound and sight and machinations and -

His body moves and in a motion like rushing fluid water he's behind the person who came in. A normal person would have thought before they moved, would have not been so attuned to move without thought, but Hibiki was not a normal person at all. Hibiki was a tool. And if tools could panic, Hibiki would, for not noticing the presence until now.

Perhaps he knows it's Kagura when he draws his weapon and perhaps he doesn't. But like a machine turned on, Hibiki's blade is at Kagura's throat.

"Whoa there, Hibiki," Kagura says, and Hibiki hears his voice but not his words. His eyes are fixated on the way Kagura's throat moves when he speaks and nearly scrapes against the blade. If Kagura were to move even a centimeter, his throat would cut open on the blade and his life will be over. Or if Hibiki decided it, Kagura's life could be over before he can have another thought. The image plays in Hibiki's mind: his blade moving, coating in a streak of blood. Drawing it back faster than an eye could see, the blood flying and splattering his uniform. Kagura's body, falling and dead before it hit the floor. All of it over in a second.

Possibly the next second. It could be. It would be if he moved. Quick, clean, efficient, deadly. Perfect.

The second passes and Hibiki doesn't move a centimeter.

"Hibiki?"

He brings his blade back and sheaths it. "I apologize, Kagura-sama. You startled me."

"Ah, no worries," Kagura says, though his tone and near-stammer suggest several worries. "Glad to see you're always on alert," he adds after a pause.

"I saw Noel-san safely to the station. We should have word from Professor Kokonoe before midnight."

"Great," Kagura says with a yawn. "Great work."

Hibiki makes no acknowledgement of the comment as Kagura sets something down on his desk. A bottle of alcohol. Of course.

Hibiki sighs, much more exasperated than any of his others. "Kagura-sama, try not to drink all of that tonight."

This normally would be the part where Hibiki added, "If you do, you'll have trouble getting up in the morning." Yet in his head he hears himself saying, "If you do, it won't be a challenge tonight."

"Course," Kagura lies, and Hibiki knows it's a lie and Kagura knows he knows it's a lie, and usually Hibiki would sigh again but his mind is too busy being flooded with the images of cutting Kagura open on his bed and his blood pooling in the sheets and his mouth permanently silenced, never to give him an order again and why is he thinking this -

"Go get some rest, Hibiki," Kagura says and the machinations are in work enough to allow Hibiki to give an automated response.

"Very well. Then I'll be off."

He silently opens the door but closes it with the audible click of the lock, and then makes his way down the shadowy hallway as a part of it.

When he gets to his own room, it's like finally submerging in water he'd been treading all day. The darkness engulfs him. His room does have two windows, of course, but the thick curtains are completely shut.

Before the door even closes behind him he knows all is normal. There is not a sound or sight out of place. He wonders, briefly, if he can truly see in this darkness that surely no one else could, or if he can merely sort of do it because he's a part of it himself.

Perhaps because he's not used to entering his room wearing them, or perhaps because of what he does after, Hibiki sits on his bed without removing his holster, and takes out the same blade again. In this room, no light reflects off of it. He stares at it, each piece familiar. The razor-sharp edge. The grooves in between the segments. Not a soul had ever seen the blade long enough to pick out any of these details. Perhaps that had been broken tonight, with Kagura. Though Hibiki doubted it. Kagura's eyes had been on his blade for only a moment before catching and keeping Hibiki's gaze. Perhaps too caught in what he saw reflected in his eyes.

Or didn't see.

What if Hibiki had moved then?

"What if" wasn't a phrase that was really in Hibiki's vocabulary. Things are or they weren't. He was a Kohaku, he was Kagura Mutsuki's personal tool. If Kagura told him to do something, he didn't. There was no questioning these things.

What if Hibiki had moved and Kagura was dead?

By his own hand?

Hibiki sees it again. The swift stroke of his blade, in just the right place. Not too much force, not too little. Just enough to end his life. Effortlessly. Kagura's voice silenced forever, no more orders to be given.

Hibiki's hand twitches on his blade. He hears all that Kagura tells him to do. Fetch him this, that. Look into this and the other thing. Watch this person, kill them if necessary. Take care of yourself. Watch yourself. Rest. The images of Kagura nearing throwing himself to death so that Hibiki and Jin could save themselves during the attempted overthrow of Izanami flood his mind.

He should check on him.

Hibiki is out the door in less than two seconds and his feet soar him in a silent glide to Kagura's room in less than thirty. Though he had locked the door himself, he turns it in just a way that it opens without a sound.

 _Tock-tock._ A new hour strikes just as Hibiki shuts the door again. Midnight.

Midnight? He had been in his room that long?

That doesn't matter.

Hibiki slinks to the left side of the room, behind Kagura's desk, and opens the door there.

Moonlight floods this room, too, and Hibiki holds back a sigh. He always told Kagura to close his curtains. Really, Kagura made it too easy. All too easy. It wouldn't be a testament to Hibiki's skill or efficiency at all.

What wouldn't be?

Kagura, expectedly, is asleep on his bed, snoring loudly. The bottle of alcohol is empty on his nightstand. Despite how deep his sleep must be, Hibiki moves with a silence no one could detect: he blends into the shadow of the opposite wall, his feet touching the ground so lightly one might think he was walking on thin ice, but so fast it's impossible to see that fact.

Hibiki draws his weapon several paces away from Kagura, so when he arrives at the bedside it's at the ready. For a moment, he eyes the door and the distance he made without making a sound. One might call what he was doing admiring himself and his skills. However to Hibiki, it's nothing of the sort. It's the pleased, satisfactory feeling of a fine-tuned, working machine.

His gaze falls back to Kagura. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His obliviousness to the blade only a foot away from his body. The ease with which it could be that his very last words became "Go get some rest, Hibiki." He wouldn't scream, be in pain, or know a thing. His life would simply end.

Hibiki's blade is lowered to Kagura's torso. When it rises with his breath, it's less than a centimeter away.

But Hibiki had come here to check on him. Check on him. Why?

The rustling branches, the howling wind, the ticking clock all seem to grow quiet.

Kagura hadn't ordered it. Hibiki had no personal desires of his own. Was there some reason to worry about Kagura's safety?

Why would Hibiki even worry about his safety when he hated living like this? He hates it. He hates it, hates it, hates it -

As if he's just stabbed himself with his other blade Hibiki recoils back, drawing in a sharp breath and nearly falling to his knees. He brings back his weapon clumsily, catching the blade end in his free hand and he feels the edge tear his glove and break his skin. The thin line of blood dirties his blade and Hibiki sheaths it but not before a drop falls to the floor and stains the carpet.

The wind outside screams in his ears. The clock ticks with the force of gunshots.

Hibiki silently speeds from the room.

Kagura's door shut behind him, the office door shut behind him.

Kagura was safe.

All was well.

It's night with no orders, and it's time for the tool to be set down for the night.

Hibiki is at his door before he realizes it, and he sets his holster and blades down at the side of the bed. One side is marked with a thin line of blood.

...His own. Of course. Right.

He walks to the bathroom and flips the switch to his left, the light burning his eyes. He shuts it back off immediately. Instead, he draws the curtains open on the small window.

Moonlight illuminates the room and Hibiki turns his hand over and looks at his palm. A very thin line runs from the top to the bottom; the bleeding has mostly stopped by now, but enough seeped out that his glove, though torn, sticks uncomfortably to him. He pulls it off with his other hand, a distinct slick sound coming as it peels away from his skin. After tossing the ruined glove into the trash can, he removes his other one - careful not to stain it - and turns on the faucet of his sink. The cold water runs over his wound, and the blood stains the running stream as it disappears down the drain.

His eyes move up and he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. His hate-filled eyes. Hatred of himself, for what an imperfection tonight was and hatred for him -

His breath catches in his throat. He doesn't know the person staring at him. He blinks and looks down. The water is running clear now.

He looks back up, and meets his familiar, empty eyes.

The creak of the water shutting off. The swish of himself drawing the curtains back shut. The soft thud of his body hitting the bed.

Tonight, though, there was the unfamiliar pounding of his heart as he lay awake.


End file.
